


Less Than Heroes

by SuicideChild



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Angst, Attempt at Humor, Bullying, Child Abuse, F/M, Fluffy Romance, Gen, Homophobic Language, Idiots in Love, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Michael has Vinewood Dreams, Rocket Pops and Cold Cokes, Self-Hatred, Sexual Experimentation, Summer, Underage Drinking, childhood AU, trailer parks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 07:59:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11801799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuicideChild/pseuds/SuicideChild
Summary: Childhood shouldn't be difficult, it should be fun. It should be full of smiles, and laughter, and good times with good friends. However, life doesn't listen to "should" and "shouldn't", and difficult is exactly what these boys got growing up in a trailer park in Middle America. But at least they had each other, and their big dreams.





	Less Than Heroes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does this fandom still have a pulse?  
> I don't know.  
> But that shan't deter me.  
> This is utter trash, but, ya know what? I really don't care.  
> It's also probably pretty OOC, but I don't care about that either.
> 
> This chapter has really minor violence.

When the Phillips family had first moved to the park, they didn't make much of an impression. A single mom raising two sons that had come down from Canada. There was never any mention of a husband or a father, and no one ever asked.

 

Mrs. Phillips, a pretty woman with dyed red hair, and a penchant for leopard print, was not around very often. She worked at the gentlemen's club downtown, and there were some rumors that she did outcall work. These rumors were never confirmed.

 

Her elder son, Ryan, was sixteen. He was foul mouthed, and had a nasty disposition that generally kept people away. He never showed up at school, and always stunk of weed and cheap beer. He was paunchy, and pasty, and had greasy black hair that hung in disgusting yellow eyes. They were always narrowed. He rarely left the trailer.

 

The younger brother, Trevor, was twelve. He was quiet and people often perceived him as odd, and anti-social. He was small, and skinny, and always grimy. His skin was pale and covered with unexplainable pock marks. He had stringy brown hair that hung just past his ears, and whiskey coloured eyes that could swallow a soul.

 

At first, Trevor didn't gain much attention, except for the occasional taunt thrown his way about his accent or his mother. He always stayed quiet, and when it had been established that he wasn't going to fight back, things got worse. He would struggle and kick, but he never did much damage when the other kids fought dirty. Because of his little frame, he was easy to hit and throw around, and became the target for the bigger kids to pick on until his mother came around and chased off the attackers. It never stopped for long, and the next day, he would suffer another beating.

 

Michael Townley had lived in the trailer park all his life. He was tall and stocky, and was at that awkward age where he was starting to get zits on his face. His black hair would get really greasy if he went for a day without washing it, and it grew faster than he could cut it. He could never focus on any one thing, his green gaze never lingering anywhere for long, but never seemed to quite keep up with his brain. Michael had been cursed with pale Irish skin that burnt way too easily, however, this never stopped him from spending his entire summer down by the lake.

 

He always watched when the bigger kids caught up to Trevor. He never did anything to participate or to intervene. He had once tried that when his dad had come home really drunk and hit his mom. He ended up with a nasty bruise across his face and a cut on his lower lip. Now, he was too scared to do anything.

 

It was Independence day, and Michael sat on the make shift porch of his trailer, a rocket pop in hand, and his best friend, Amanda Hunt, seated by his side as they waited for the fireworks to start.

 

She lived in the trailer next to his, and they had grown up together.

 

Michael had turned thirteen that year. His voice had started to crack as it got deeper, and he had started to grow hair in more private places, and he found out that if he didn't use deodorant when it was warm, the smell of his sweat became unbearable.

 

"You're becoming a man." His grandmother would say as she pinched his cheeks, which weren't as chubby anymore.

 

His mother had begun to joke about him dating Amanda, that he wasn't sure were actually jokes.

 

The sun was just beginning to set over the lake, casting the shadow of the hills in the distance over the little park, and everything felt peaceful, but electric. The show would start soon, and Michael always loved fireworks.

 

Amanda's knee knocked with his as she shifted, and a blush crept up her soft cheeks, hidden by the long strands of her pretty auburn hair.

 

She cleared her throat and smiled a little, pink tongue darting out to lick at her rocket pop, "Wanna play hide and seek?" She asked. It was one of their favourite past times, running around and finding places to hide in their trailer park. They always seemed to find somewhere new. And when they were done, they would take the flash lights and go swim in the lake at night.

 

Amanda's mother would always chastise them when they got back, and bundle them up in fluffy towels, telling them they were going to catch a cold.

 

Michael nodded eagerly, "You hide, I'll seek." He said, standing up and turning his back to press his face against his arm, which was braced against the trailer door.

 

He heard Amanda giggle as she ran off, shouting over her shoulder, "No peeking!"

 

Michael began to count to thirty. Half way through, he heard a dull thud and a high pitched shriek off to the left. He pulled back to see a group of kids had caught the younger Philips boy, and one of them had him pinned on the ground.

 

"You don't get to celebrate Independence day." The kid sneered down at Trevor, who was thrashing wildly beneath him, "You're not even American."

 

Michael sighed and looked away, knowing that Mrs. Phillips would come running over soon to rescue her son.

 

He went back to counting to thirty, before going off to look for Amanda. He found her easily, a few trailers over, peeking around the side as the kids wailed on Trevor.

 

"We should do something." She whispered as he approached.

 

Michael shook his head softly, "His mom will, soon." He whispered back, feeling a tad guilty at his blatant refusal to help.

 

They continued to watch, however, and the minutes dragged on. It soon became clear that no matter how much Trevor screamed and trashed, kicking wildly and lashing out every time he got a hand free, the kids weren't going to let up, and his mother, for some reason, never came.

 

Michael made up his mind when he heard a sickening crack from where he was standing and Trevor let out a sharp screech that reminded him of a cat whose tail had been pulled.

 

A quick look around had supplied him with a heavy stick. He picked it up, and tested how it felt in hand. Amanda looked at him, opening her mouth to speak, but he hushed her, "Stay here." He whispered. She frowned, but nodded, and watched as Michael walked towards the group of older kids.

 

He recognized the one who had Trevor pinned, as a kid named Steve. He always thought of himself as such a big shot, and Michael decided it was time someone took him down a notch. How could one be such a tough guy if he needed to beat up a twelve year old to feel like one?

 

The first blow with the stick went to him, connecting with his side and knocking him off of Trevor, taking him by surprise. Trevor made a gasping noise once the pressure was off his chest, and rolled over so he was on his side, coughing and trying to take a deep breath. The noise was ragged and painful.

 

Steve was stunned for a moment, before he clambered to his feet and leered down at Michael, "What the fuck is the big idea, Townley?" He snarled, taking an aggressive stance.

 

Michael moved to stand over Trevor's prone form, "Leave him alone, Steve." He said, hating how his voice trembled as he stared up at the older kid, "He's had enough."

 

Another kid tried to get at Michael from the back. He got a decent shot in, no doubt leaving a bruise on Michael's shoulder, before he got hit in the face with the stick. He staggered backwards, holding his bloodied nose.

 

Steve grabbed Michael's wrist before he could swing the stick again, and kneed him in the stomach. Michael doubled over and groaned. He dropped the stick and held up his arm to deflect any blows aimed at his face.

 

A rock whizzed past his ear and hit Steve in the shoulder, causing him to falter. Michael took that chance to land a poorly formed punch into his ribs right where he had landed the stick earlie. It wasn't hard, but it still hurt because of the damage already done. Steve wheezed.

 

There was another thud from behind Michael and he turned around to see that Trevor had rolled over, and the thud had been a swift kick to his ribs. He still had more rocks in his hand.

 

Momentarily distracted, he didn't have time to react when Steve grabbed him from behind.

 

"Steve, honey! Dinner is ready!" Mrs. Haines, Steve's mother, called, her voice rang through the trailer park. Steve stopped, and his friends took a few steps back.

 

Steve smiled bitterly at Michael and Trevor, "You two got lucky." He snapped, before turning around and walking off, his friends trailing behind.

 

Amanda came running over once she was sure that Steve was gone, and hugged Michael tightly, "That was really brave, Michael." She swooned.

 

Michael hugged her back before pushing her away gently and crouching beside Trevor, "Go get your dad, Amanda." He said.

 

Amanda began to protest, but Michael glared at her, and she nodded before she went to go get Mr. Hunt.

 

Michael crouched down beside Trevor, and frowned. He had fallen unconscious, and he looked even more pathetic up close. Michael gathered him in his arms, surprised at how light he was- still not light enough, however, for Michael to carry comfortably. Trevor groaned in pain as he was lifted at an awkward angle, but didn't show any signs of waking. Michael staggered towards Amanda's trailer, where she was emerging with her dad.

 

The older man immediately released his daughter's hand and ran over, "My God, what happened?" He asked.

 

"Uh, a-a couple kids was beating him up, telling him he couldn't celebrate Independence day 'cause… 'cause he's not American." Michael said as he set Trevor down on the steps, knitting his eyebrows, and glancing down at his arms. They were coated with blood, from a nasty wound on Trevor's back. He must have gotten cut with a rock or something.

 

"I think he's dead." Michael said, voice shaking a little, "I shoulda helped sooner." His voice cracked a little and Amanda covered her mouth in shock.

 

Amanda's dad shook his head, "He's not dead, Michael, but I think he may need some medical attention." He said, "Go inside and call an ambulance."

 

Michael ran inside and shakily dialed 911. He put on his bravest voice as he spoke to the operator, and told her he needed an ambulance. He then told her the address, and hung up, before running back outside, "They said they was gonna send one." He informed Amanda's dad dutifully.

 

Mrs. Hunt handed him a wet wash cloth and told him to clean the blood away from Trevor's face best he could. He sat next to him on the steps and began to dab at a cut on his lip, carefully clearing dirt and pebbles and blood from the area.

 

The first of the fireworks whined as it ascended, and then burst in the air with a loud sound, coloured sparks raining down over the lake. The flare of red and blue light illuminated Trevor's face for a moment, and Michael felt his heart throb. He stopped and stared at him until the shadows fell again. He let out a breath he hadn't meant to hold, and began to clean again, mentally scolding himself for staring.

 

His focus was drawn from Trevor when he was almost done, by the sound of sirens, and tires over gravel. He watched the ambulance pull to a stop, and a team of paramedics get out.

 

Slender, grubby fingers curled around his wrist and Michael looked back down, finding himself locked in an intense amber gaze. "Thanks…" Trevor's voice was broken, and it sounded like there was something wet caught in his throat. It was the first time he had heard Trevor speak, and it made him want to cry, he sounded so damn pathetic.

 

Michael smiled at him weakly, but he felt like he had a mouthful of cotton balls, so he didn't speak. A man in blue came and took Trevor to the back of the ambulance. Michael watched they drove away, and he wondered silently, if Steve would get into any trouble for this. He doubted it.

 

Michael wasn't himself for the rest of the night. His focus was worse than usual, and he couldn't even watch the fireworks as he sat on the edge of the dock with Amanda. He kept thinking about how bad Trevor had looked. Worry twisted like sickness in his stomach each time that weak little voice echoed it's thanks.

 

He had spaced out during the show, popsicle forgotten in his hand until it's melted stickiness dripped onto his thigh. He looked down and frowned. Amanda brushed the droplet away and sucked it off her thumb, before looking at Michael, "Are you okay?" She asked, tugging at her lower lip with pretty white teeth.

  
Michael nodded, "Yeah. Just… lost in thought." He said, dipping his hand in the water to rinse away the juice from the popsicle.

 

Amanda nodded a little, "Alright." She said, glancing away and then standing up, "The show is over."

 

Michael looked up at the dark night sky, and watched the stars wink at him for a moment, before he too got to his feet, "Guess I missed it." He said, sounding more disappointed than he felt.

 

He stood at the end of the dock, looking down at Amanda for a moment, before she took a step towards him. "You're thinking about what happened, aren't you." She said, her eyes big and blue, staring up at him as if she could see right through him.

 

He looked away and nodded, "I shoulda helped sooner." He said.

 

Amanda shook his head, "It's not your fault." She told him, grabbing his hand in her tiny fingers, "You shouldn't worry about it. Dad said he wasn't dead, and the doctors are going to fix him." She smiled reassuringly at her friend, and then hugged him.

  
Michael felt a little better at Amanda's words, and he wrapped her up in his arms.

 

"You're right. I shouldn't make myself sick over it." He said as he let go.

 

Amanda nodded and brushed a lock of hair from her face, "We should head back." She said, glancing over her shoulder.

 

Fire pits twinkled off in the distance between trailers, silhouetting the people who sat beside them, and the low murmur of the trailer park was almost drowned out by the chirping crickets that hid in the grass by the lake.

  
Michael took a deep breath of the night air, calming his nerves a little. The smell of fireworks and burning wood clung to the air, and it even brought a little smile to his face.  
He nodded, "Alright. Let's go back." He said.

 

They walked back together, still hand in hand. Amanda broke their silence after a moment, squeezing Michael's hand before asking, "Can I spend the night tonight?"

 

"Don't see why not." He responded.

 

She smiled and leaned her head on Michael's shoulder.

 

 

They sat up on the couch, watching Looney Tunes until Amanda fell asleep.

  
Michael was struggling to stay awake himself, when their was a soft knock on the door. He looked over at the clock on the stove and frowned. It was nearly six in the morning.

  
Carefully moving out from underneath Amanda, and tucking a pillow under her head, Michael got to his feet. He grabbed his baseball bat as he walked towards the door, and slowly pulled it open. There was no one out there, but in the earliest rays of sunlight peeking out behind clouds, he could see a small figure, peeking out from behind the very trailer he had been behind last night, watching Steve and his friends beat Trevor up.The figure ducked away when they noticed that Michael had seen them.

 

Michael was about to close the door, when he noticed a chocolate chip cookie wrapped in plastic wrap, placed on the top step. He smiled a little and scooped it up, before going back inside.

 

He fell asleep with the cookie- half eaten- still in his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo...  
> Here it is. Chapter One. It isn't great, but it's something.  
> Maybe I'll stick with this one this time.  
> It's been gathering dust in my files for a little bit, and I'm slowly etching out a second chapter.  
> Comments are fantastic, I really appreciate feed back.  
> They act as encouragement.


End file.
